


Autumn a Little While Longer

by AKAuthor



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Facial Shaving, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov are Yuri Plisetsky's Parents, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Smut, Most of the time, No Smut, Shaving, its a central character, some language, viktor and yuuri are just a bit horny, yuri has a creepy little moustache for a part of this, yuuri uses a straight razor because i said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28404363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKAuthor/pseuds/AKAuthor
Summary: It, as far as Yuri Plisetsky is concerned, is the beginning of the end. It wasn’t a major concern for him, but Russia’s Rising Legend and Grand Prix Gold Medalist knew it was a sign, like the first leaf turning brown in Autumn.Yuri needs to learn to shave, if only to stave off puberty a little while longer. Enter Viktor and Yuuri.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Victor Nikiforov & Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 6
Kudos: 153





	Autumn a Little While Longer

_ It _ , as far as Yuri Plisetsky is concerned, is the beginning of the end. It wasn’t a major concern for him, but Russia’s Rising Legend and Grand Prix Gold Medalist knew it was a sign, like the first leaf turning brown in Autumn. 

And that meant that Winter was on its way.

Yuri wasn’t even the first to notice it, Lilia was. As the Russian Fairy, among other titles, he made a point to keep up with ballet practices with Lilia in order to maintain a flexible and lithe physique on the ice. What had initially been a doorway into finding and expressing agape in all it’s angelic glory had, he would only admit under pain of death, become a pleasant way to keep fit without extra trips to the gym which always stank of hockey players - that is to say, body odor and bad aftershave. 

The other Yuuri usually joined Yuri for his ballet sessions. It had rankled initially, when the Japanese Yuuri had just moved to Russia to train and Lilia’s flinty gaze had twinkled immediately upon seeing him on the ice. She didn’t need to be asked by Viktor or Yakov, actually quite the opposite. She had all but nabbed Yuuri off the ice and locked him in her studio. 

Yuri had been furious to find out that his ballet sessions were going to be shared by the Katsudon - even more so when he saw just why Lilia’s eyes lit up the way that they did. Because Yuri might have beaten Katsudon despite his age and lesser experience in skating, but Katsudon was a dancer first and nothing Yuri could ever hope to achieve in ballet would match up to the fluidity and grace with which the elder moved across the wooden floors. 

And all the angry swearing in the world wouldn’t change that. 

He tried. 

The day  _ It _ was pointed out to him, luckily, Katsudon was not present in the studio. How he had managed to skip a ballet session with Lilia was beyond Yuri - last time he tried to get a day off the old bat had bitten his head off with that dignified poise that could make glass crack. Yuri hoped the Katsudon was doing something productive with his impressively won time off, because if he survived Lilia’s sole attention with the lingering comparison of skill just to find out that the Katsudon had been holed up with the Grey-haired menace doing God-knows-what all day, he’d fucking flip. 

Later, after the entire debacle, as he sat on his bed and buried his face in Potya’s plush fur, Yuri found himself thinking that it might have been better if Katsudon had actually been present. 

Yuri supposes he hasn’t noticed because he is used to seeing himself and seldom takes the time to actually inspect himself, something his grandfather had once awkwardly told him was ‘normal to do’. 

But even though he hadn’t noticed it, Lilia’s sharp gaze did. 

“Yura! Take care of whatever it is that is going on with your face! It is not becoming of a ballerino under my tutelage!” 

And there  _ It _ was. 

The first sign that the worst was to come. 

Growing in broad daylight out of his face. 

Yuri is around the right age for the full effect of puberty to begin hitting, he is keenly aware of this. He does try to notice changes about himself, growth and what-not, but it is hard to see changes when you see yourself everyday and are usually in a rush to some form of exercise or another. 

He considers himself lucky in some ways, seeing as the growth spurt he’s been promised by doctors hasn’t taken hold yet. Yuri dreads measurements being taken and gets antsy about the smallest twinge in his joints. He can’t break records if his body is new to himself, if it is bigger and less bendy. He might have to take a season off if he well and truly starts growing at the wrong time.

And that would give the Old Man and Katsudon a whole season’s worth of medals and competitions over Yuri, who has worked so endlessly hard to bet them both, to dominate and re-write the legends about Viktor Nikiforov. 

The dusting of darker hair over his upper lip suggests that the inches the doctors were talking about may not be so far away. 

This is not okay with Yuri.

His Winter can’t happen so soon.

Yuri cradles Potya close and decides to pretend, at least for the night, that it’s just her fur on his face.

  
  


The hair is still there the next morning. More of it, even. Yuri looks like shit, early in the morning with puffy eyes and lank blond hair. He squints at himself in the scratched bathroom mirror over the vanity, tentatively running a hand along his jaw. 

It’s not very dark, but Yuri is blond so that’s to be expected. A relief actually, because it means it’ll be easier to hide while he works out  _ what the fuck to do _ . There is a shading over his upper lip, darker towards the corners of his mouth. It’s not pretty, not something to be encouraged, Yuri thinks with a scowl. If it were anyone else with such a weak display of facial hair he’d probably laugh at them. 

Stray hairs dot his chin and thicken into a similar shading to what is above his mouth around his jaw. This is less cringy, but still unacceptable for Russia’s Fairy. 

He’s at a loss for what to do. Yuri knows one thing for certain and that is that the hair must go - as promptly as possible - but how? 

His grandfather is the best option for advice, a lesson, and a razor, but he is in Moscow and Yuri may be a gold medalist but he isn’t flying his elderly grandfather to Saint Petersburg for one shaving lesson. 

Most people going through puberty usually have parents or guardians to guide them through the embarrassing moments - hair in new places and gross urges and whatnot, but Yuri has only his grandfather who does not live in the city. 

The next option is Yakov, who is technically an appointed guardian for Yuri and is thus responsible for his well being and schooling and upbringing in these tumultuous teenage years. Yakov is clean-shaven, and in the bathroom downstairs that Yakov uses, Yuri knows is a simple looking razor. 

Brand-name, supermarket brought, a pretty safe bet. 

But Yuri doesn’t want to slice up his face because that will undoubtedly be more embarrassing than any patchy looking baby moustache. 

And he also doesn’t want to ask Yakov for a lesson, even though he knows the gruff man would oblige him. Yakov doesn’t have any kids of his own, but he has known Yuri since he was eleven and met him at a skating workshop that Yuri got as a birthday present from his grandfather. Yakov cares for him, in his own distant, aggressive, blood-pressure rising way. But Yuri has far to many memories of being yelled at on the ice or screaming bloody murder back at him to want to approach the man for shaving lessons.

Besides, what happens if Yakov teaches shaving exactly like how he coaches?

  
  


Georgi is an option, Yuri thinks as he arrives at the rink with a leopard printed scarf covering the lower half of his face. Saint Petersburg’s chilly weather has never really been a blessing to Yuri, until today, when he dug out an old scarf after realising its potential. 

Yuri is not overly close with Georgi, but has known him for a little more than three years. While the dramatic and admittedly emotional skater is, to Yuri’s frequent annoyance, dramatic and emotional, he is Yuri’s senior by a good few years and definitely knows how to shave. 

Yuri can remember a particularly entertaining day a few years back when Yakov returned from a short sabbatical to find Georgi successfully trying to grow a beard after a sudden breakup. The yelling had been something to witness, seeing as how Georgi is usually the most mild-mannered of Yakov’s students. 

He had turned up the next day with a bare face and endured Mila’s teasing for a week with impressive stoicism. 

But Yuri is not comfortable going to Georgi with such a request as something so personal. The elder would probably cry and hug him and turn the whole thing into a spiel about love.

Which leaves the Nuclear option. 

The Twit and-slash-or his cow-eyed fiance. 

Yuri has seen Viktor in the off season with a smattering of facial hair. He’s seen him bleary eyed in the morning with stubble in the same pale shade of silver, but never has the idiot ever performed or even made a scheduled public appearance looking anything other than baby-smooth. Viktor clearly knows what he’s doing, Yuri notes unhappily as he stops practicing step sequences to take a drink. He’s furtive about it and careful to keep most of his scarf up around his face. 

Mila had enquired about the new accessory and been cussed out nastily enough to discourage any of the others from approaching him. 

The rink is cold, sue him.

Yuri eyes up Katsudon next, whom he has never seen with even an inkling of facial hair. He’s pretty sure he can grow it, if he can’t that’s got to be the result of some kind of expensive salon treatment. The Katsudon is always clean-shaven, smooth to the point that he looks virtually hairless. It makes Yuri dubious of his skill.

But between Viktor “listen to the sonnets I wrote about Yuuri” and the Katsudon, Yuri knows who he’d rather go to for help. 

Now he just has to find the courage to actually do so. 

  
  
  


Yuuri thinks that something is up with Yurio. It’s been three days and the blond boy has yet to uncover the bottom half of his face for anything other than a quick drink. First he wore a scarf, which wasn’t so odd considering Saint Petersburg is cold and the rink is also cold. But then he practiced in it, tying it in a knot around his neck so it didn’t fly off during spins. And he continued to practice in it, even when he was clearly overheating and bright pink under the spotted fabric. 

The next day Yurio wore a black face mask, the kind Yuuri is used to seeing back home in Japan. Weirdly, the look suits him and makes Yuuri wonder if it’s a fashion statement. 

Viktor agrees with him.

“He looks like one of those Korean idols Phichit is in love with,” Viktor muses, finger on his lips as they sit and watch Yuri run his routine, mask on. 

“That… that is a good comparison,” Yuuri admits. Viktor snaps a photo and sends it to Phichit, who regardless of local time, always replies in seconds. His response is a flurry of emojis followed by a swarm of photographs of various idols he adores. 

Yurio does look a bit like that small blond rapper…

The face mask makes a return appearance the next day, remaining tight to the youth’s face throughout the entire practice. Yakov attempts to get Yurio to remove it but only succeeds in starting an argument he will never win. Yurio keeps his mask on while he screams back at his coach, before skating to the opposite end of the rink and continuing his practice uncaring of Yakov’s receding hairline and prescription blood pressure medicine. 

Yuuri then begins to wonder if Yurio is hiding something under the mask. Acne seems like the most likely option, but Yurio is more meticulous about his skincare regime than most young boys and therefore isn’t prone to large breakouts. He also isn’t so vain as to feel that he must hide something as inconsequential as acne either, so Yuuri has to assume that it’s something else.

An injury perhaps? Again, that isn’t something Yurio is likely to hide, if anything he’d be showing it off to everyone in the vicinity to make sure they know he’s a hardass. 

Yuuri is stumped. At least, he is until he is reclining in the bath watching Viktor run an electric razor over his legs when a thought strikes him. 

His fiance is chattering about a new toy he thinks Makkachin would like, filling the silence with the sort of mundane chatter world-famous athletes like to indulge in whenever possible. 

“Viktor?” Yuuri leans over the lip of the bath, propping his head on cross arms. 

Viktor looks up at him, hair damp, robe open, legs half shaved and still, incredibly sexy. “Yes My Love?”

“Does Yurio shave?” Yuuri asks. 

Viktor needs to think about it and cocks his head to the side. “I am not sure. I assumed that his grandfather has taught him, or perhaps Yakov seeing as Yurio lives with him, but now that I think about it… I am not sure. Why do you ask?” 

“He’s been covering his face a lot and if he doesn’t know how to shave, that would explain it,” Yuuri said. 

His fiance looks like he’s been struck by lightning. “My Yuuri is so smart!” Viktor coos. “Perhaps I should offer to teach him?” 

“I don’t think he’ll take that well,” Yuuri replies, recalling the numerous times the pair of them had offered any sort of advice to the prickly teen. “We need to figure out a better way to bring it up. I don’t want him angry and holding razor blades.”

“Fair point,” Viktor concedes, finishing his legs and moving further up. Yuuri sighs and reaches for the shampoo, mentally coming up with ideas on how to approach Yurio and compiling a small shopping list. 

He just needs to figure out how to bring it up…

  
  
  


The issue resolved itself not two days later in the afternoon, when Viktor and Yuuri have returned home from the rink and made a short stop at the grocery store on their way home. 

Viktor is lazing around on the floor with Makkachin in what had begun as an attempt to start a pre-pre-dinner dicking but had ended with Makkachin working out how to open the bedroom door and kill the mood. 

Yuuri is sitting on the couch reading through a free parenting book he found online using one of the websites Phichit found during college for free textbooks. He is unaware that Yuri is nervously hovering just outside their door, debating whether Mila or Lilia could teach him to shave instead. 

He kicks himself. 

Russia’s Ice Tiger isn’t afraid of a balding, lovestruck, old man or his skittish fiance who sometimes behaves like a feral cat. 

He punches the door instead of knocking to feel more manly and psych himself up for the upcoming conversation. 

Katsudon answers, smiling kindly at him like he usually does. Yuri inadvertently stares at his cheeks for a bit too long, searching for evidence that isn’t there. Normally. Today Yuri can see the short beginnings of a goatee on the Katsudon’s chin and lip.

“Hello Yura,” Yuuri greets, holding the door open for Yurio to enter. Viktor sits up, hair askew and grinning. 

“Yuratchka! What a lovely surprise!” 

“Shut up geezer,” Yurio barks. He puffs himself up and stiffens, still facing Yuuri, who is patiently and politely watching him. “Look, Katsudon, I know I don’t really act all nice to you… and you can totally say no but… could you… maybe… I need…” Yurio keeps losing his words in his sea of nerves. 

Yuuri is still kindly watching him, eyes soft and relaxed. “What is it, Yura? I’ll help you with anything, you know that.” 

Yurio scowls more at himself than anything else and roughly tugs down the face mask he is still wearing. Yuuri’s gentle expression doesn’t change at the reveal of his new facial hair, but a whistle from across the room indicates that Viktor is still present and stupid. 

“I don’t… Please show me how to shave. I don’t know how and I don’t know who to ask,” Yuri mumbles, determinedly staring at Yuuri’s shoulder instead of making eye contact. It’s a sign that both older men know how Yuri is feeling about the ordeal because Viktor doesn’t cheekily ask him to repeat the request as he ordinarily would have done.

Yuri feels a warm hand rest on his shoulder. “Of course Yura, I’m glad you felt that you could come to us,” Yuuri says, making it sappy and awkward like he usually does with his stupidly heartfelt confessions. Yuri lets the Japanese man lead him towards the master ensuite, unfortunately located within the master suite. This means that Yuri is lead through the Old Man’s sex dungeon, which looks deceptively like a tastefully decorated bedroom. 

Viktor follows, leaving Makkachin to nap on the couch. In the ensuite, Yuri is greeted with a wide double vanity and expansive mirror, unhelpfully showing three days of baby moustache growth. He looks away from his reflection, only to spy a large bottle of what looks to be expensive lube in the shower and then, looking away from that, a matching bottle of the stuff beside the bathtub. 

Fucking freaks.

Yuuri claps his hands softly, the noise echoing in the tiled room anyways. “I don’t know what you’ll prefer so you may have to experiment once you know what you’re doing,” he says and to Yuri’s confusion, brings out a plastic grocery bag instead of a razor as expected. “Viktor prefers an electric shaver and I tend to use a straight razor, but I thought it might be best to teach you with a normal safety razor.”

Yuri comprehends most of this but his brain does pause for a moment when Yuuri mentions that he uses a straight razor. Yuri’s respect for him went up a few notches - you can’t get much cooler than a straight razor, after all. 

Then Yuuri is pulling a blue and silver safety razor with replacement blade cartridges from the bag and is setting them on the vanity in front of Yuri. Helpfully, Viktor plugs both sinks and runs the taps on warm, and sets a can of shaving foam beside Yuri’s new supplies.

Yuri feels unexpectedly emotional. 

“Did… did you buy these for me?” 

“Of course!” Viktor says, wrapping Yuri in a half hug and smiling at him in the mirror. “And tomorrow I’ll take you shopping for a nice aftershave.”

“Now I figured the best way to show you would be to shave too, so you can copy what we do,” Yuuri says somewhat nervously. “That’s how my dad showed me.”

“And mine,” Viktor adds. 

Yuuri dips his hands into the sink and wets his face with the warm water. “Viktor and I haven’t shaved in a couple of days, so it should be easier for you to see what we do.” That explains the sudden appearance of hair on Yuuri then. They must have planned this, the sappy, caring, stupid morons. “First you want to get your face wet, warm water works best to open the pores and make everything easier.”

Yuri nods and cups some water to run over his face, feeling the hair prickle under his hands. He hates it so much. Beside him, Viktor does the same, and up close, the older Russian definitely has more than just stubble growing on his jaw. 

“Now, we use the shaving foam,” Viktor grabs the can and sprays a fair amount onto his hand, handing it off to Yuri before lathering his face gleefully. Yuri mimics him, and Yuuri follows with less enthusiasm than his fiance.

Yuri’s nerves return as he picks up the razor for the first time, feeling how heavy it is in his hand. Viktor is holding a similar razor and smiling at him goofily through a beard of foam. Yuuri is watching them both fondly, holding a straight razor and wow, Yuri needs to know how to shave now so that he can get one of those. 

“Start from the sideburns, it’s easier,” Viktor says, pulling the razor down his jaw smoothly. “Just rest it against your skin and let the weight of it pull down.” 

Yuri follows his advice and is relieved when he doesn’t peel his face like a potato. Beside him, Yuuri is doing much the same, only looking far cooler. 

Cheeks and jaw done, Yuri is careful to listen and even lets Viktor take hold of his razor to demonstrate how to shave the underside of his jaw and neck. Finally, the time comes for the gross little moustache to go. 

“Tuck your lip into your teeth - there you go,” Yuuri advises. “It’s much easier that way,” he says before rinsing off his blade and easily shaving his own upper lip. Yuri’s eyes scrunch a little and Viktor wishes he had his phone for a photo, but the moment passes and Yuri has successfully learned how to shave. 

Viktor hands him a damp towel to wipe his face off on, now blissfully smooth. Yuuri finishes up and rinses his blade one last time before setting it aside and washing his face off. 

“Now for the best part! Aftershave!” Viktor crows, gesturing to the multitude of bottles on his side of the vanity. It’s exactly what Yuri expected of the man who takes twenty minutes to pick a pair of socks. 

“It’s his passion in life,” Yuuri says flatly but fondly, picking up his own singular bottle. “There’s lots of types and smells, so just look around until you find something you like,” he says, offering Yuri the bottle before Viktor can unleash his fifteen odd options on the boy. 

It smells like Yuuri does, clean and fresh with a pleasant lingering sweetness. Yuri decides that this will do and sprays some on his hands and pats his cheeks. He scowls at Viktor, who was eagerly waiting for a big reaction but it only stings a little. 

They all finish up and Yuri isn’t sure how to thank them for the lesson, for the razor, for the kindness that he knows to expect but can’t seem to accept. So he improvises.

“I want one,” he points to Yuuri’s straight razor, resting on a towel. It has something etched or stamped into the blade and a soft looking leather cover. It’s so fucking cool. 

Yuuri laughs and his eyes scrunch up. “My dad got it for me. I’ll ask him to get you one from the place and send it,” he says. 

Yuri glances at the mirror one last time, happy to see himself back in the reflection. Standing in between the two older skaters, he can’t help but feel like he’s won. Perhaps not a medal, but instead of just getting one person to teach him, he got two. 

  
  


Viktor ruins the moment, predictably.

“Now, come to us again if you want lessons shaving anywhere else-”

He’s cut off by Yuuri’s screech and Yuri whirling around on him with an expression so disgusted it can only be expressed with his fists. 

  
  


Yuri’s winter might be approaching, but he can at least hide in autumn for a while.


End file.
